| I am the daughter of Earth and Water
|
| And the nursling of the sky
|
| I pass through the pores of the oceans and shores
|
| I change, but I cannot die
|
| For after the rain, when it never a stain
|
| The pavilion of heaven is bare
|
| And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
|
| Build up the blue dome of air
|
| I silently laugh at my own cenotaph
|
| And out of the caverns of rain.
|
| Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb
|
| I unrise and unbuilt it again
|
| I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
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| From the seas and from the streams
|
| I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
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| In their noonday dreams
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| From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
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| The sweet buds every one
|
| When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast
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| As she dances about the sun.
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| I wield the flail of the lashing hail
|
| And whiten the green plains under
|
| And then again I dissolve it in rain
|
| And laugh as I pass in thunder
|
| I am the daughter of Earth and Water
|
| And the nursling of the sky
|
| I pass through the pores of the oceans and shores
|
| I change, but I cannot die
|
| For after the rain, when it never a stain
|
| The pavilion of heaven is bare
|
| And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
|
| Build up the blue dome of air
|
| I silently laugh at my own cenotaph
|
| And out of the caverns of rain.
|
| Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb
|
| I unrise and unbuilt it again |